


His Name was Pride

by dragongoats



Series: Tales of Thedas [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Dog, Eluvians, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: The reflection shifted and quirked its head in sudden life, the façade taking shape, like how a person might.





	His Name was Pride

The sleeping figure took in a breath, no more than a sigh. The air which was once stagnant shifted in the square room.

The dark corners laden with webs of dust shimmered where once it had been still; undisturbed for ages. Spectral vines shifted in and out of form. Extending from the figure they twisted and climbed up the sides of the ruined stone walls toward a memory of sunlight long since obscured.

The figure opened its eyes. Life flooded the room.

 

Greenery flourished and sang in multi-coloured hues; golden leaves and rose-tipped vines. The sun seeped into the stone surface and sparkled as insects fluttered and danced along heavy wooden trunks that spread and sunk deep into the earth.

 

The figure pawed at a small metal sphere which pulsed with the beat of a heart. It stayed dormant.

The figure stared at the sphere with its mouth in a hard line, a mouth turning wider, toothier as furious whispers clawed and etched reminders in its head. Long shadows lashed out along the floor from the figures feet, climbing high like ragged claw marks, the stone cracking and trembling.

The figure stood. Stretched.

The shadows receded.

 

The figure stepped towards a reflective, golden framed mirror tucked into a shadowed corner.

The wind whistled gently through the cracks in the worn ceiling and caught the fabric of the figure's tattered clothes. Its mouth upturned as it watched its reflection, watched as half of its face was obscured in shadow, the sunlight dancing bright along bare skin.

The figure shimmered.

The reflection shone with worn, earthy fabrics. A gnarled wooden staff appearing in its grasp. The reflection smiled, teeth caught in the glare of the sun.

The figure stared at the reflection, its mind seeking memory, past the fog of the dream world, past the haze of time. A memory formed in its mind: an Elvhen man, _Zathrian_ , tall, trustworthy, _proud._

 

_Trustworthy._

 

The reflection shimmered. Skin and eyes going colourless; long, braided hair shifting away to simply skin; no adornments. Perfectly plain. Unassuming.

 

_Pride._

 

The reflection shifted and quirked its head in sudden life, the façade taking shape. Like how a person might. The words flickered into being, from somewhere distant and old.

"My name is _Solas_ , if there are to be introductions," the reflection said. Its mouth curled into a snarl, then it threw its head back and laughed. The sound was dry and harsh along the stone walls.

The figure was silent. It held the sphere in one hand and pressed the other hand, bare and living, on the mirror's surface.

It shimmered.

The reflection continued to howl as its image shattered and broke; the sound echoing in the room.

The figure leaned on its wooden staff and stepped forward through the mirror.

The room fell once more into dusty darkness.


End file.
